Wild Abandon (18 page)

Nate shakes his head, not knowing what could have possibly happened to the trunk I hid in, and then his eyes widen with realization. I put my hands over my mouth to stifle my laugh.

“Someone locks the trunk and starts to load it onto the tour trailer!” Jeremy exclaims.

“You’re kidding me! How did you get out?” Nate is staring at me with a look of disbelief and elation.

I get a shiver up my back, remembering how nervous I was that night. “I started kicking and screaming from inside the trunk.”

“It’s a good thing it was the end of the concert; otherwise, no one would have heard you,” Jeremy chastises.

“Yes, but someone did open the trunk. Guess who!”

“Adam Levine?” Nate asks.

“No,” I reply. “His manager who was so worried that I was hurt or would try to sue that he took me directly to meet Adam Levine himself!” I laugh out loud. “I made him sign my bra. I still have it.”

“Your bra?” Nate seems disappointed. “That’s so not you.”

Naomi does a double take at Nate’s comment, but I continue, “What did you expect? I didn’t have anything on me, and I needed a memento.”

Nate is laughing. I like his laugh. I hate that I like his laugh.

“The other night, I asked you what the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done was. How was this not your answer?”

“The music video!” Naomi and Jeremy chime in unison.

“Yes!” Nate nearly jumps out of his seat. “Something about an orangutan. She wouldn’t tell me the name of it.”

Naomi is out of her seat before Nate is finished speaking.

Jeremy grabs a bottle of Southern Comfort from the outside fridge and asks Nate, “Hope you don’t mind SoCo. It’s a little tradition in our house.”

In mortification, I drop my head in my hands.

Naomi returns with four shot glasses and an iPad. “Nate, we are about to make your year!”

I stay seated at the end of the table while the two of them huddle around Nate’s chair, the iPad facing in their direction. Naomi explains the rules of her Let’s Humiliate Crystal drinking game, and the three of them are downing a shot within seconds of the music playing. I can’t look, so I just take a shot along with them.

And then another.

And another.

Wow, I must really wink into the camera and lick my lips a lot.

When the rap verse kicks in, I see Nate’s eyes widen.

“There she goes with the bom, bom, bom.”

Yeah, this is the part when I lie on top of a Camaro and start rolling from side to side.

“Her hips, they sway with the bom, bom, bom.”

It’s probably best he’s already in a relationship. I don’t have to worry about what he thinks of me in this ridiculous video. We’re just friends after all. It’s not like he was interested in me, and this is the thing that will make him lose interest.

“It’s guerrilla warfare with her bom, bom, bom!”

And then he laughs—like, out loud.

I’m assuming the orangutan has just made its appearance.

I blow air out my lips and watch Nate’s facial features. He’s enjoying himself. So different from the day I met him. I would never have guessed that smile existed. But it does. And it’s beautiful.

Nate looks up at me over the iPad, and instead of a teasing look, he’s glancing at me with a look of endearment. If he weren’t in a relationship, I would misinterpret it as something more, but he’s giving me a glance of appreciation.

For what, I’m not sure.

Nate ended up staying for two more hours. The four of us chatted on the patio, telling stories and sharing jokes. It was a really great evening, and now, it is coming to an end. Nate and Willie Mays say good night to everyone, and Naomi nudges me to walk him to his truck.

When we get to the truck, Nate puts Willie Mays in the backseat and then turns to me. With his hands buried deep in his pockets and mine crossed over my chest, we’re awkwardly standing there, not knowing how to say good-bye.

“This was fun—”

“Thank you for—”

“You go first,” Nate says.

I motion toward the house. “Thank you for helping us today. It was really nice.”

Something about what I said doesn’t seem to sit well with Nate. “You’re welcome. But I wasn’t being
nice
. I was being your friend.”

Friend
. I wish that word didn’t sting. “Looks like Naomi and Jeremy really liked you. We should do this again. Maybe bring your girlfriend.” It’s a half-assed invitation.

Nate suddenly looks really uncomfortable. “About that. I hope I didn’t give you the wrong impression.”

“No, you didn’t,” I assure him. “I totally had you pegged as being in a relationship.”

Nate leans forward and laughs. “You’re such a liar.”

I hit him on his arm. “And you’re an idiot!”

We both laugh, and it feels good. Maybe I can be just his friend.

Nate climbs into his truck. “Will you be coming back to the bar to visit me?”

“I don’t go there for you.”

“Right.” He grins, and if he were next to me, I’d hit him again. “Night, Crystal.”

“Good night, Nathaniel.”

I watch as his Tahoe drives down the road. Before it’s at the corner, I am walking back to the house, ready to tell Jeremy that I’m ready to be set up on that date.

chapter TWELVE

His name is Brent Montavale.

And he does not do online dating.

He has no need to. Six foot four, square shoulders, a trim waist, and a face like a movie star, Brent is the type of man who has women come to him.

Kinda makes me wonder why he agreed to go out on a blind date with me.

Brent is recently divorced from—and this is according to Jeremy—a gold-digging Swedish model who didn’t realize their ironclad prenuptial would keep her from inheriting anything if she ever cheated on him, and, unfortunately, she was.

In his mid-thirties, Brent is looking for a down-to-earth girl who isn’t after his millions.

Enter me.

We had a brief phone conversation last night where we exchanged pleasantries and decided where we should meet. Brent recommended the Michelin-rated The French Laundry that has a wait list of six months, yet he has no trouble getting a table at a moment’s notice. I, a creature of my own dating habit, wanted to recommend Henley’s, but taking advice from Jeremy, I decided to amend my ways.

I agreed to dinner but not at the place that charged three hundred dollars a plate. Instead, we are seated at an outside table at Bottega in the town of Yountville. I figured it was nice enough for Brent’s taste but still within my comfort zone.

“Jeremy tells me you’re a cellist. That is exquisite.” His voice is smooth, and his eyes never falter from anywhere other than my face. “Where do you perform?”

“At weddings mostly. And I teach a few days a week at a free school for the performing arts. Well, I taught. Now, I work at a winery.”

“Aren’t you classically trained?”

“Yes. The Eastman School of Music at the University of Rochester.”

“Have you ever considered the symphony? I have friends at the San Francisco Symphony. If you’d like, I could get you an audition.”

“Thanks, but I have worked for the symphony, and it’s not for me.” I cross my legs and let the silky material of my plum-colored dress creep up my leg. I start to tilt my head to the side and then remember Nate teasing me about my move.

I tilt my head anyway and let my straightened hair fall to the side. “So, what do you do?”

He smirks, as if I should know. “Montavale Estates. Have you heard of it?”

I shake my head.

Brent gives me his thoroughbred smile. “I don’t know if I should be relieved or offended. Montavale should be in your local liquor store.”

“I wasn’t much of a wine drinker before I moved to Napa,” I say. Then, I look at the expensive bottle of wine he ordered.

“Why didn’t you say something? What would you like?”

“No, it’s fine. This is delicious, really. Continue.”

“My family has been in the wine business for fifty years. We have a winery and vineyard in Sonoma. I’d love to show it to you sometime.”

“I’d like that.” And I mean it.

We spend the next hour chatting. We mostly talk about him, as I tend to ask a lot of questions. He tells me about his winery and vineyard, explaining everything from harvesting to the bottling process. I find it fascinating that most of the work seems to be done by large machines. It sounds similar to what Jeremy says he does at Gallo. It’s a far cry from anything Big Ed would have going on at Russet Ranch, a place Brent says he’s never heard of. Makes sense. There are hundreds of wineries in the valley. A small mom-and-pop place must be far off the radar for a vineyard and winery the size of Montavale. According to Brent, they grow and harvest their own grapes on site, something many wineries do not do.

The business side of winemaking is intricate. When he starts talking about barrel fees and ratios, I am immersed in the conversation—so much so that, when the check comes, I’m pleasantly surprised I haven’t regretted forgoing the usual first date drink-only rule.

The date, however, wasn’t magical enough for me to want to kiss him. So, when he walks me to my car at the end of the night, I offer him my cheek. Standing under the twinkling lights of the nearby trees, Brent’s cheeks rise, his smile closed but rounded up, as he shakes his head in disbelief.

“I’d like to see you again.” It’s a statement. Not an invitation.

So, I just stand, squinting my eyes at him, waiting for him to properly ask. There is a short moment of silence as I wait, and I cannot hide my smirk.

He gets the hint and eventually asks, “Would you like to have dinner with me on Saturday night?”

“No,” I deadpan. Then, I smile to let him know I am joking. “There’s a band that plays on Saturday nights at Henley’s Pub in Downtown Napa. I’ll be there to see them play.”

Brent smiles a beautiful full-teeth smile and nods his head. “Good to know.”

I bid him good night and get in my car, proud of myself for making it to the end of the date.

He’s a little intimidating. He reminds me of Bruce Wayne–wealthy, utter-determination and intelligence.

He seemed really nice though. We’ll see if he shows up on Saturday.

He’s shown up.

It’s Saturday night. The Barge Poppers are playing onstage. The bar is filled with people and smells like bourbon. I’ve been here for an hour, sitting at a table, not far from the bar.

Laurie slid my stout on the table before I ordered it. Today, it’s a blueberry ale. Thankfully, no carb-loaded appetizers were sent my way this time.

When I walked through the door, Nate didn’t even acknowledge my presence. I thought it was because he didn’t see me walk in, but when the drink was brought to my table, I looked up and saw him glance my way really quick before continuing to busy himself behind the bar.

I was content, sitting here by myself, listening to music, when the front door opened, and in came Brent.

His brown hair is slicked back, styled just right to the side and back. His brown eyes are framed with long dark lashes, and his dark skin makes his teeth gleam extra pearly white when he smiles at the sight of me.

Okay, I’m a little excited that he showed. I know I acted aloof the other night, but there’s something about him. Maybe, tonight, he’ll loosen up a little more, and I can get to know more about him, other than the vineyard his family owns, which was all he spoke about at dinner.

Taking a chair from another table, he pulls it up beside me and just flashes a grin. I return it and go back to listening to the music. It would be a little hard to talk with the music so loud, so I just sit back and enjoy the show.

When Laurie comes over, I hear Brent order a cognac. When she leaves, he leans back and slides his arm on the back of my chair. When she returns with the drink, he takes it with his free hand and leans forward to watch the show as intently as I am.

The band takes a set break, and the jukebox music comes on, making it easier to have a conversation.

Brent rolls the sleeves of his cashmere sweater up his tan forearms. “This is the kind of music you like?”

I nod. “What do you think?”

“They’re good. Different but good.” He looks down at my drink on the table. “Not a wine girl.”